


Unwilling

by AnaliseGrey



Series: Where Light Fears to Tread [6]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociation, Episode: c02e086 The Cathedral, Gen, Trent Ikithon is his own warning, magic healing isn't always good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22078447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: If things at the Chantry of the Dawn had gone ever-so-slightly differently.
Series: Where Light Fears to Tread [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1441021
Comments: 17
Kudos: 171





	Unwilling

He doesn’t want to return to Rexentruum.

He wasn’t going to avoid it forever, but the fact remains that when the party realizes Obann and his crew are there, Caleb feels his blood go to ice as his stomach curdles, his mind shifting ever-so-slightly off to the side into a place of anxious, static-filled quiet.

He hears what the others are saying, though it’s like listening through the susserus of a wheat field before harvest. Everything is distant, off-set. They make it through the portal to the Rexentruum branch of the Cobalt Soul, and he’s vaguely aware of Beauregard reassuring him, telling him he’s got this.

He doesn’t have this.

Within minutes of arrival he’s nearly arrested by a gryphon rider, and not long after that they’re on their way to the Chantry of the Dawn.

Time passes in fits and starts. His feet know the way to go, even if his mind isn’t entirely present-

-they’re on the steps leading down to street level-

-the cobblestones fade in, the familiar rusty-red color worn smooth from the passage of thousands of feet over the years-

-buildings pass, the looming shape of the Chantry growing ever closer.

The fight is intense and immediate, beginning almost as soon as they’re inside. The Cardinal is prepared, has reinforcements ready. He’s prepared to do what’s necessary, to keep his friends safe, to keep them alive while they also do what needs to be done. His fire scorches the marble floors as it turns the enemy combatants to ash, and the roar of the flames drowns out everything else until that’s all he hears.

It’s so loud, all-consuming, and within it he can hear the screaming. He doesn’t know anymore whether he’s hearing the screams of the people in front of him, or the remembered cries of his parents. It doesn’t really matter; these people are going to burn regardless.

He’s so focused on the fight, on the flames, that he doesn’t hear it, the sound of someone moving up behind him until it’s too late. A sharp blade sliding into flesh is a disturbingly-familiar sensation, and he grits his teeth against the feel of blade-on-bone as it skitters off his ribs. He moves to pull away, and there’s a _tug_ as the blade pulls free. When he turns to look, there’s a cultist, grinning madly at him, wickedly-sharp serrated blade in-hand. The blood is pouring warm and wet, sticking Caleb’s shirt to his skin, and he _knows_ it’s bad, can tell without looking. That sort of blade is meant to cause immense damage going in _and_ out, and it’s done its job as designed. He manages to stop the cultist with a well-placed swipe of his Cat’s Ire, but the damage is done. The blood is hot as it soaks into his clothes, the only thing he can feel as his lips go tingly and numb with blood loss. He’s aware of falling to his knees, getting off one more spell before his vision tunnels and the world goes black.

He wakes up with the distinct sense that something is very, _very_ wrong.

The last thing he remembers is the heated pitch of battle and the noise to match. It’s quiet where he is now, and dark, and he has the oddest sensation that time has passed without his being aware of it, though he can’t tell precisely how long. It’s jarring- even while unconscious he can usually tell how long has gone by, but _now-_

The hazy memory of blade-on-bone, a grinning cultist, the hot wash of blood down his side, and the picture of what’s happened becomes clearer.

The fact he appears to have died isn’t nearly as concerning as the fact that he’s woken up restrained to a chair.

“Did you know-” says a voice from behind him, and Caleb freezes at the familiar tone, burned into his mind over countless hours of lecture and instruction. “-that Revivify is the only one of the family of resurrection spells that doesn’t require a soul to be willing?”

Trent Ikithon steps around the side of the chair, and smiles down at him, pleased at Caleb’s apparent discomfiture. He places a hand on Caleb’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze, and Caleb has to fight not to be violently ill.

“We have so much to discuss, Bren.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Revivify** \- **_“You touch a creature that has died within the last minute. That creature returns to life with 1 hit point. This spell can't return to life a creature that has died of old age, nor can it restore any missing body parts."_**


End file.
